The Medical Genius Without a Heart

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. The moment the traffic light turned red, I stepped on the brakes at the intersection.

Shouts and screams erupted from the sidewalk.

"Call an ambulance! A pregnant woman has collapsed and is bleeding badly!"

I instinctively reached for the car door handle. But as soon as I tried to open it, a flood of painful memories overwhelmed me.

I could almost hear my husband, Wilfred O'Neil, and my in-laws angrily cursing and blaming me for the death of my sister-in-law, Sarah O'Neil.

My hand subconsciously went to my belly as I relived the day her husband, Matthew Pruett, had slashed it open in a bloody frenzy.

The phantom pain gripped me, making my muscles twitch and convulse uncontrollably.

I pulled my hand away. When the light turned green, I stepped on the accelerator and drove forward.

To prevent my in-laws from pointing fingers at me later, I went straight to my mother-in-law, Susan Bramwell's house.

"Susan, Wilfred's working late today. I brought some food for you," I said as I walked in.

I pretended not to notice the guilty look on her face as she hurried to end the video call.

"Ariana's here—"

But before she could finish, her phone rang again.

When she answered, her face went pale, and tears instantly filled her eyes. Her legs gave way, and she staggered toward me.

"H-Hurry to the hospital! Sarah has fallen!" she cried out.

Though I already knew the truth, I pretended to be shocked. After helping Susan steady herself, I drove as fast as I could to the maternity hospital where Wilfred worked.

Unlike in my past life, I resisted the urge to interfere. A passerby had already called an ambulance, which rushed Sarah to the hospital.

By the time we arrived, she was already in the operating room.

"The patient's family needs to sign this form. She is currently 32 weeks pregnant. After the fall, she suffered from severe bleeding. A cesarean section is necessary."

Just like in my past life, Susan's hands trembled as she signed the paperwork.

I turned to her and said, "Wilfred is the best obstetrician in the city. He's working overtime today. To be safe, let me try calling him."

After a brief hesitation, Susan nodded.

I called Wilfred three times, but there was no answer.

"Susan, Wilfred might be tied up. I'll go to his department and look for him," I suggested.

Susan's gaze shifted, and she gave me a subtle nod. As soon as I turned to leave, she called Wilfred herself.

I knew he wasn't at the hospital, so there was no point in my searching for him.

I stood in the stairwell, watching as Susan repeatedly dialed Wilfred's number.

Her expression went from calm to frantic, tears rolling down her cheeks.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

She had no idea that her "perfect son" had already silenced his phone. After all, he was out on a date with his first love.